Tuesday, November 20, 2012

It happens to every writer at some point. The story is in your head, you've done the research, created your characters, and outlined your plot. Now it's time to get it on the page, and you can't seem to make yourself sit down and do it.

Why is that? I am a writer. I love writing. I love having written. So why is it sometimes so difficult to keep my butt in the chair?

I think I know why, at least with me. There's something wrong with my idea. Either the story doesn't excite me enough, or my characters aren't yet worth caring about, or I have too many other things on my mind.

I've found the best way to work through this problem is a three step process that usually lets me know for which reason I'm not writing.

The first thing I do is journal. I write about what's going on in my life at that moment. All my cares and worries down on the page. If that doesn't let me know what's wrong, I create a new "character" who happens to be a writer and write about his/her problem in third person. Sometimes, this gives me a new perspective to determine what the problem is.

If it's not a personal issue keeping me from writing, it might be a character issue. Can I "hear" my character? Do I like him/her? Do I want to spend the next year or more with him/her? If the answer is no to any of those questions, I know I probably need a new character. So I create a brand new character. Keep in mind, this usually means changes to the story-line, since each character makes unique choices and handles conflict differently.

To find out if it's the story, I write the copy for the back cover of the completed book. Then, I read it. Is this something I would pick up to read? Does it excite me? If not, there's no wonder I can't seem to finish it. I file all the work I've already done, since I never throw anything away, and start a new story.

Yes, I know it's tough to start over, especially if you've already put a lot of work into it, but here really is no sense in continuing to work on something that isn't going anywhere. The phrase, beating a dead horse, comes to mind. Bury the poor beast and get yourself a brand new mount. One you'll enjoy riding every day, because writing a novel is a long journey and journeys should be fun adventures.

Friday, October 19, 2012

I love reading books where the setting is as important as the characters or the storyline. Books like Harry Potter, The Hobbit, even StarTrek give me worlds I want to stay in long after the characters solve their problems. I wanted to open every door in Hogwarts. I wanted to live in Middle Earth and on the Enterprise or at least on the Earth where poverty, war, and hunger had been eliminated.

That's the type of book I want to write someday.

From the author's I've spoke with world-building is almost more fun than the writing part, but where to start? I have a few ideas, so I'll be doing some exercises with settings over the next few weeks. Dipping my toes into the role of the gods and building new worlds.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Here's a fun little story I hope you enjoy. It was a study in character development using well-known characters and a lot of fun to write.

Shift

by Anna Questerly

Chapter One

Aw, man! I bet I shouldn’t have touched that, Travis thought
as Atlas, the control room of the
particle accelerator at Cern, whirled and twisted around him.

Colors streamed past his eyes; the brilliant orange of the
safety hats they all had to wear, the soft blue of the walls, the wobbly green
of the many monitors, the playful purple jacket of their guide, Professor
Jorgenson, all stretched into a ribbon of rainbow that coiled and looped over
the heads of the eighth-grade tour group. Sounds too, flowed and churned into a
chaotic river that danced across the room as cries of surprise and terror
dopplered past his ears.

The angles of the room stretched and warped unnaturally,
making his head hurt and his stomach lurch, sending a sickening bitter taste into
the back of his throat, as the confined maelstrom spun faster and faster.
Travis squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears. In the
relative quiet, he struggled to remember the way out. He pictured the layout of
Atlas, the control room and brain of Cern’s Large Hadron Collider, certain the
exit was just a few feet to his left.

He shuffled his feet in that direction, not daring to open
his eyes. Either the door was there or it wasn’t; if he was wrong, then he’d
risk a peek. His elbow tapped against something firm and solid.

It has to be the wallor maybe the door.

Travis skimmed his elbow along the smooth vertical plane
until he felt the sharp corner of the doorjamb. He turned slightly and shoved
his hip against the door and stumbled into the wall on the opposite side of the
hallway. He caught himself with his hands and his eyes flew open.

The motionless muted blue of the walls welcomed him back to
a sense of normality. Klaxons screamed their alarm, but compared to the storm
in the control room, the hallway seemed almost peaceful.

Where is everyone?

No sooner had the thought entered his mind, then a river of
uniformed guards poured into the hall. Relief coursed through his body and his
legs turned to rubber as he slid down the wall and pointed towards the control
room.

He wanted to close his eyes before they opened that door,
but he had to see; had to be sure everyone made it out. Everybody had to be
okay; things like this didn’t happen on a school trip. If anyone was hurt, it
would be his fault. His stupid habit of fidgeting and tapping and having to
touch things constantly. He should have kept his hands in his pockets as his
mother insisted he do each time they walked into a store.

“Please, let everybody be okay,” he prayed to any god
listening.

He braced himself as the guard swung open the door.

Chapter Two

Silence spilled into the hall from the empty control room.

Travis leveraged himself against the wall to stand. He
followed the guard, certain they’d find everyone hiding under the curved rows
of desks. The room couldn’t be empty. There had been over thirty people inside
only a moment ago.

The guard turned an accusing scowl towards him and spoke
into his radio. “False alarm. It looks to be a prank.”

The klaxons stopped shrieking.

“No. Wait! It’s not a prank. Where did everyone go?”

“What are you talking about? No one should be here. This
facility has been abandoned for years. What I want to know is, how you gained
entry into a secured area.”

“I…with the tour group. It’s not abandoned. There were
workers and a guide –”

The guard locked Travis’s arm in a steel grip and bent it
behind his back. “We’re going to detain you until we get some answers that make
sense.”

“I’m telling you, there were people in here. We have to find
them!”

“Sure. Sure.” The guard pushed him back into the hall,
grumbling under his breath, “Damn kids always causing some sort of trouble.”

Travis’s mind spun, inventing then discarding implausible
theories and weaving bizarre speculations as the guard led him to a small,
windowless room, pushed him into a hard metal chair, and then left, locking the
door behind him.

His head snapped left to right. He’d distinctly heard a
voice, yet he was alone. He noticed a speaker set high into the corner. “Who
are you?” he asked.

“Anyone.”

“Great, like I really need sarcasm right now. Okay, Anyone,
what’s going on around here?”

“First, lemme ask you a question. Where do you think you
are?”

“I’m in a locked room inside the Large Hadron Collider in
Cern, Switzerland.”

“Almost.”

“What do you mean, almost?”

“You’re in a ’maginary construct of the Large Hadron
Collider in Cern, Switzerland.” The voice was that of a boy with a slight
southern draw and seemed oddly familiar, but Travis couldn’t quite place where
he’d heard it before.

“Stop playing games and tell me where everyone disappeared
to.”

“You’re the only one doin’ any disappearin’.”

Travis jumped up and began pacing. “I did not. I’m right
here. What about everyone else? Are they okay?”

“I dunno know. I’m here. They’re there.”

“Would you please stop talking in riddles and just tell me
what happened?” Travis slumped back into the chair.

“Best I can reckon, you stepped through some kinda doorway
into this world.”

“Another world?”

“Yep. Your friends didn’t come with ya though. I guess
they’re fine and dandy back in their own world.”

Travis began to pace again as he tried to process this new
information. “Then, they’re okay?”

“Weren’t you listenin’? I said, I can only guess. I don’t have
an inklin’ what goes on in other worlds no more’n you do. I’m here. They’re
there. Lordy!”

“Okay. Okay. Can you at least let me out of here?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Hold your horses, will ya?”

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

Chapter Three

Sunlight streamed through the narrow opening, which
shouldn’t have been possible since it opened into the hallway. Travis
hesitantly pushed the door open further and blinked. Before him he found not
the institutional blue walls he’d walked past earlier, but a gray, wooden fence
and a boy holding a paintbrush and dripping white paint down his arm. A boy
Travis would know anywhere, even without the straw hat and pants that were too
short. “Tom Sawyer?”

The boy grinned. “Lookyhere! I knew you’d remember.”

Tom Sawyer was a boy Travis was never likely to forget. Ever
since his father had first read the story to him, years ago, Travis ran most of
his decisions past his imaginary buddy, Tom. Although most of the time, he’d find
out what Tom would do and then do the exact opposite. Tom was a clever kid
alright, the cleverest, but Travis had no need of the trouble that usually
followed one of Tom’s solutions. He hadn’t spoken to his imaginary friend in
over a year.

“But what are you doing here?”

Tom coated one of the boards with the white paint and dipped
his brush back into the bucket. “I live here, that’s what.”

“You live in Switzerland?” Travis asked, now certain he had
cracked his head at some point and was in a coma. This had to be a dream or
some kind of trick. I can’t actually be
talking with Tom Sawyer, right?

“We gotta git you somewhere safe. You’re in my world now and
you’re my friend, so I came to help. Trust me, will ya?”

Travis shrugged, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tom, it was
more that he knew without meaning to do so, Tom was more than likely going to
lead him somewhere much less safe than where he was now. Wherever this was.
“How did you know where to find me, anyway?”

“You called me.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Tom, I most definitely did not call you. I didn’t even know
you were here. Stop fooling around, huh?”

“Listen, Trav. I’m not foolin’. You called me and I came to
help. In this world, it ’pears if you just think of someone, it’s more’n likely
they’re gonna show up, like the guards and like me. That’s why we gotta git you
somewhere safe. In the meantime, don’t think about nothin’.”

Travis followed Tom into town. Hundreds of questions whirled
through his mind, but on Tom’s advice he avoided thinking too hard on any one
of them. He did reconsider that maybe he had called for Tom to help him. He’d
done it enough times when he was younger, and maybe because he’d been scared,
he’d summoned him subconsciously. That made a strange sort of sense. What made
no sense, whatsoever, was that Tom came. Not an imaginary Tom, like when he was
a kid. The real Tom Sawyer, not a figment, the sting of the straw hat was proof
of that.

“Look here, Trav, this is the safest place I know of. We’ll
just stay in here ’til we figger out what to do.”

“A church?”

“Yessir.” Tom grinned. “Nothin’ evil can git in a church.
The Good Book says so. I don’t much like it myself, bein’ in a church. Every
time I come in, I tend to get an itchy feelin’ all over, but I’ll do it for
you.”

Travis scratched his head, he knew Tom was doing what he
thought best, but he couldn’t see how a church would be any safer than the LHC.
Then again, this was Tom’s world and he knew the way things worked here and he
certainly didn’t want to be alone. “I appreciate it, Tom.”

Tom pulled the door shut behind them and the boys settled
themselves behind the altar. “Look here, Trav. I’m a bit hungry. What say you
’magine up some of Aunt Polly’s fried chicken and apple pie?”

“Why don’t you do it?”

Tom shrugged. “Won’t work for me.”

“How come I can do it and you can’t?”

“Blast if I know. Just do it will ya?”

“I can try, but I’ve never tasted Aunt Polly’s cooking.”

“You just think of the juiciest, crispiest, fried chicken
you ever tasted and the sweetest apple pie, with cinnamon, sugar sprinkled on
top with a crust that’s just a tad too salty and melts right on your tongue,
and you’ll be close enough.”

At Tom’s words, Travis’ mouth watered and in an instant, a
red and white striped bucket stuffed with chicken and an aluminum pan of
steaming apple pie appeared in front of the boys.

“Mmmmm.” Tom said around a drumstick.

Travis agreed, reaching for a piece. He couldn’t even
remember the last time he’d eaten.

“Hey, order us up some sarsaparilla too, will ya?”

“Never tried it; how about a root beer?”

Tom shrugged and reached for another drumstick just as two
cans appeared.

Travis opened one for each of them and handed Tom his. Tom
grinned as he chugged it and let out a loud belch. “Mighty good.”

“Tom, tell me a bit more about your world. How’d you come to
be here?”

“Well, here’s the way I reckon it; before old Sam Clemens thunk
up my story, I was kinda in a dreamworld, just floatin’ along sleepin’. Then
one day, I woke up here. I don’t even remember much about the other place. Best
I can tell is that until someone writes about you, you’re stuck in that world,
then once they do, you live in this one. It’s not so bad, but lemme tell you, it
sure does get to be borin’ after a time.”

Tom licked his fingers clean and then reached for the pie.
“Yeah, I’m one of them. Say, you couldn’t a thought up a knife or something?”

“Sorry.” A knife appeared next to the pie. “You know this is
pretty cool. Just wishing for stuff and it appears.”

“Yeah, I reckon it is, but be careful. I’m tellin’ ya.”

The beginning of an idea tickled the edges of Travis’ mind.
He thought about it for the few minutes it took him to finish a quarter of the
pie. If this world was populated by fictional characters, he might be able to gain
their help to get back home. He’d just have to be careful about who he thought
of. If magic could send him back, was there any wizard more powerful than
Gandalf the White?

Chapter Four

Tom sprang to his feet. “Aw! Now you’ve done it.”

“Done wh – ?” Travis’ gaze traveled up the shimmering white
robe and up further still to the long white beard and into a pair of blue eyes
that looked as if they could penetrate solid steel. “Gandalf?”

The wizard’s eyes locked onto Travis, and scrutinized him as
if her were an insect. “And you are?”

Travis pulled himself to his feet. “Yes, sir. Gandalf, sir,
my name is Travis. I’m trapped in this world by accident and I was hoping you
would help me get back home, sir.”

He stiffly turned to Tom. “And you?”

Tom puffed out his chest to make himself look bigger. A trick
Travis often noticed him doing when he was particularly scared. “Name’s Tom.
Tom Sawyer. I’m his friend.”

Travis began to think he’d made a huge mistake. Although
Gandalf the White was more powerful, Gandalf the Grey was much friendlier. At
least he had been in Lord of the Rings. Never
having been face to face with a real wizard before, and not having a clue as to
how to wish him away, Travis tried the slightly crooked smile he used on his
parents and teachers when he really wanted something.

Gandalf’s deep laugh rumbled through the church. “You
summoned me? Why you’re just a boy. How old are you, son?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

“I’m ten.” Tom answered, although he hadn’t been asked.

The wizard chuckled again and lowered himself into the first
wooden pew. “As quick as I was whisked here, I thought for certain I would have
to battle a powerful wizard or some such being. I must say, I’m relieved to
find it to be only a couple of young boys who called for me.”

Travis released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been
holding. “Does that mean you’ll help me, sir?”

His gnarled hand stroked his long beard as his bushy brows
furrowed. His nose twitched. “What is that I smell?”

Tom snatched up the bucket and passed it to the wizard.
“Best fried chicken I ever tasted, but don’t tell Aunt Polly I said so.”

Gandalf pulled out a large piece. “Mmmm.”

Travis couldn’t stand it anymore. “So? Will you help me?”

“Patience, boy. Patience. First tell me how you ended up
here.”

While Gandalf ate, Travis explained about his class visiting
the LHC and all that had happened that day. Gandalf nodded between bites and
reached for another piece of chicken.

“What’s so special about this LHC? Is it magical?”

“Not really. It’s scientific. The scientists use it to smash
particles together to create smaller particles.”

“Sounds like fun. Some sort of game?”

“Oh no, sir. It’s very technical. They use it to study how
the universe was formed and to learn about the nature of space, time, black
holes and, well, just everything.”

Gandalf stood. “In that case, I think what you need is a
scientist, not a wizard to help you get home. I wouldn’t begin to understand
how that kind of magic works. So you can send me home now.”

“I don’t know how, sir.”

“How did you get me here?”

“I wished you to be here.”

“Then simply wish me home.”

Travis closed his eyes and wished Gandalf back where he’d
been. He opened them and found himself staring into the slightly irritated blue
eyes of a powerful wizard. “I’m sorry, sir.” He shrugged.

“Hmmm,” the wizard responded.

“What you said earlier, sir, about the scientist. I think I
know just the one who could help.”

“Well, I’m sure he will be no happier than I at the
interruption, but go ahead and bring him here so we’ll all have a chance to get
home.”

Travis grinned. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Five

Tom screamed and scurried behind a pew. “You went and called
the devil! Lordy, we’re all goners. Now I lay me down to sleep – ”

“It’s okay, Tom. It’s not the devil. It’s Mr. Spock.”

“Just lookit his ears and tell me that’s not the devil
hisself. I pray the Lord –”

“I swear, Tom. Come on out. It’s not the devil.”

“Looks more like an elf to me.” Gandalf added.

Mr. Spock stooped as if he’d been spying into the science
monitor on the bridge of the Enterprise.
He stood up and turned to Gandalf. “I, sir, am a Vulcan.”

Tom peeked over the back of the pew. “What’s a Vulcan? One
of the devil’s demons?”

Spock turned toward Gandalf. “Those names do sound familiar,
sir. However, at this time I cannot recall where I may have heard them. I am
far more interested in the technology that was able to penetrate the shields of
a starship to bring me here.” He glanced pointedly around the church. “Wherever
here is.”

“Mr. Spock, sir.” Travis began. “I was hoping you could help
me get home. You see -”

Before Travis could stop him, Tom shoved the bucket of
chicken under the Vulcan’s nose. “Wanna piece of chicken?”

Disgust crossed Spock’s features as he used the tip of one
finger to push the bucket away. “I do not eat the flesh of dead animals.”

A look of horror flashed on Tom’s face. “You…you eat them
a…alive?”

“Indeed not,” Spock answered. “I do not eat the flesh of
animals at all.”

“Never?” Tom and Gandalf asked at the same time.

“Never.”

Tom sat the bucket down, confusion etched on his face. He
smiled then lifted the pie plate. “How ’bout some apple pie?”

“Perhaps later.”

Tom cut another piece of pie for himself and offered a slice
to Gandalf.

“Don’t mind if I do, thank you,” the wizard said.

“As I was saying, Mr. Spock, I was hoping you could help me
get home. Do you know much about particle physics? Subatomic particles, I
mean?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you see, I was on a school trip to a particle
accelerator on Earth called The Large Hadron Collider, LHC, for short. Suddenly
the control room went all weird and I ended up in this other world, where
whatever I wish comes to me. That’s how you got here, but I don’t know how to
get back.”

Spock’s eyebrow quirked up. “Fascinating.”

“Indeed,” Travis couldn’t resist adding. “Do you think you
can help?”

“I’m curious; what happened immediately prior to the room
entering a state of flux?” The science officer asked.

“Um, well, you see. I guess I may have pressed a button in
the control room.” Travis admitted.

“I see, you believe that by pressing that button you caused
yourself to be shifted into another dimension.”

“I do not dispute your experience only your interpretation
of cause and effect. Logic dictates that should a single button control a
function as significant as a dimensional shift, it would be highly unlikely
such a device would be located where a child might reach it.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Travis agreed although he
cringed a bit at the child reference; he was fourteen years old after all.

“Seems reasonable to me. It would be like a wizard leaving a
powerful staff or wand around where anyone could pick it up.” Gandalf added.

“But then how did I end up here?”

“Maybe someone wrote you into a story.” Tom offered. “That’s
how the rest of us got here.”

“Mr. Sawyer, those of us who were created by authors,
remained in a state of suspended animation prior to our arrival in this
dimension. That, however, is not the case with Mr…?

“Edwards, sir. Travis.”

“Mr. Edwards. You were, in fact, residing on Earth in the 21st
century, correct?”

“Yes, sir. I was only visiting Switzerland. I live in
Phoenix, Arizona.”

Spock crossed his hands behind his back. “Fascinating.”

After a moment of silence, Travis spoke up. “So, do you
think you can help me get home?”

“I find it unlikely that I would be able to find a way to
send you back to the fourth dimension from this location. However, if we were
on the Enterprise I could utilize the
science lab and perhaps resolve the situation.”

“Wow! I would love to visit the Enterprise. Are you sure Captain Kirk won’t mind?”

“I cannot speak for the captain, but I believe he would be
relieved at having his first officer back aboard the ship.”

“Let’s do it.” Travis agreed, a grin stretched across his
face. Excited about being on the Enterprise,
Travis almost didn’t mind if it took a bit longer to get home.

Gandalf stood. “Since
I appear to be stranded here as well, would you mind if I came along?”

“Me too!” Tom added.

Travis looked to Mr. Spock for approval. “It is my fault
they’re here. We’d need to find a way to send them home too.”

“Very well. I shall try to explain the situation to the
captain.” Spock tapped his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise. Four to beam up.”

Chapter Six

A moment later, a wide-eyed Travis watched the interior of
the transporter room of the USS Enterprise
materialize around him. His skin tingled and his mind danced with the knowledge
that he was actually aboard the legendary starship.

“Lordy, this aint like no boat on the Mississip!” Tom
exclaimed.

Travis laughed, “Just wait until you see the rest.”

An unsteady Gandalf leaned on his staff, his piercing eyes
studied everything in sight.

Spock stepped off the transporter platform, nodded to the
attendant on duty, and tapped his communicator. “Spock to Captain Kirk.”

“Kirk here.”

“Captain, please meet me in Science Lab One.”

“On my way. Kirk out.”

Spock turned and the doors wooshed open.

“Blazes! What kinda place is this?” Tom asked.

“Come on.” Travis nudged him and the three followed the
Vulcan into the passageway. Spock turned left and led them into the turbolift.

“Quite a bare lab,” Gandalf remarked upon entering the lift.

“We’re not there yet,” Travis whispered.

It wasn’t long before the doors opened and Spock led them
down another passage. The group earned a few curious looks from crewmembers
they passed, but with the Vulcan in the lead, no one questioned them.

Spock turned into a large room filled with computer
monitors, microscopes, and instruments Travis could only guess at. Once
everyone was inside, the Vulcan looked to Travis. “Mr. Edwards, unlike the LHC,
this room is not open for tours and is usually off limits except to ship’s
personnel. Therefore, I must insist that you and your friends touch nothing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“While we await the captain, please sit.” He gestured toward
a hexagonal table with six chairs surrounding it.

The three sat and Travis continued to study the room, trying
to place the various tools into what he remembered from the Star Trek television series he used to
watch every day. He was certain the square metal window set into the wall just
behind Tom was a replicator and decided to test his theory. “Mr. Spock, sir,
would you have anything to drink. My mouth’s dry.”

“What type of beverage would you prefer?” Spock asked as he
moved toward the metal window.

Travis knew he’d been
right. “Anything, really would be fine.”

“I’ll take a sasparilla or a … what did you call it,
Travis?”

“Root beer.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Make it two, Mr. Spock.”

The science officer nodded. “And you, sir?” Spock asked
Gandalf.

“After a day like today, I think I’d enjoy a honeyed mead.”

Spock spoke into the metal box and a few seconds later three
large cups appeared inside.

Tom slurped his root bear and licked the foamy mustache from
his lip. “Is that a magic box?”

“No, it’s a replicator. It can make practically anything you
want.” Travis explained.

Tom’s eyes lit up. “Can it make gold?”

“Sure.”

All heads turned as the doors opened and Captain James T.
Kirk entered the lab. He glanced at the visitors and looked to his first
officer for answers. “Who are your new friends, Mr. Spock?”

“Captain, allow me to explain.” Spock answered.

“Please do.”

As Mr. Spock enlightened the captain, Travis listened,
thrilled to be in the same room as two of his all-time heroes. If anyone could
get him home, it was the crew of the Enterprise
and, if they couldn’t, well, to be honest, he really wouldn’t mind staying. Of
course, he knew he’d miss his Mom and Dad and all of his friends, but …

“If you stuff anymore into those pockets, young Tom, you
won’t be able to walk.” Gandalf said.

Travis looked at Tom’s red face and saw his pockets bulging.
He kept his voice low as he hissed, “Tom! You’re not supposed to be touching
anything.”

“Lookit, Trav. It’s real gold.” He pulled out a gold coin,
bit it, and handed it to Travis. With his other hand, scooped another pile from
the replicator and shoved it into his pocket.

Travis shook his head and turned his attention back to
Captain Kirk. “Spock, find a way to send these people back, but do it quickly.
Romulan warships have already entered the neutral zone. Our orders are to turn
those ships back. In four hours, we’ll be facing those ships and I don’t need
the added worry of civilians aboard.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The captain left and Spock turned to Travis. “Mr. Edwards,
do you recall what experiment was running in the particle accelerator just
prior to your arrival here?”

Travis shook his head. “All I know is Mr. Jorgensen said
something about tachyon condensation and then things got weird.”

The Vulcan’s brow arched to a point. “Fascinating. Tachyon
condensation is where 21st century physicists hoped to find the
so-called God Particle.”

“The God Particle?” Gandalf asked.

“Also called the Higgs-Boson,” Spock continued, “It is
believed that this particle controls the mass of other subatomic particles such
as electrons and quarks.” He glanced at the newcomers. “We may assume, they
found it.”

“What’s so special about this particle?” Travis asked.

“Whereas most particles move within the familiar three
dimensions of space and one dimension of time — the four dimensions that makeup
the everyday world — it is theorized that the Higgs-Boson moves in an extra
space-time dimension.

Travis’s brow furrowed as he tried to follow the Vulcan’s
explanation as it applied to his recent adventure. “So you think this God
Particle created a wormhole to this dimension and brought me here?”

“It stands to reason, that if the Higgs-Boson can control
the mass of electrons, it could have, in theory, affected your mass as well.
You are, in fact, made up of electrons. If it somehow reduced your mass to fit
through the wormhole into this dimension, it would explain your presence here.”

“But how did this particle escape the magnetic field of the
Large Hadron Collider? And why did it only bring me? What happened to everyone
else?”

“Unknown.”

Travis realized they may need a bit more help to sort this
out. Someone who could piece things together and make sense of it. Someone with
a razor-sharp mind –

Travis spun around at the clipped tones of the newest
arrival, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

“Lordy! I plum forgot about Hopper.” Tom hurriedly piled a
pocket full of gold onto the table and fished out a frog. Cupping his hand
around the poor creature, he peered closely and gently poked it. “Praise be, I
think he’s gonna be alright. You saved him, sir. But, how did you know he was
in my pocket?”

Tom tossed a gold coin, which Sherlock snatched from the
air. “Elementary, young man. I noticed the edge of a gold coin poking out from
your pocket. Gold, however, doesn’t wiggle.”

Travis’s nose
twitched at the acrid scent of smoke
drifting towards him from Sherlock’s pipe.

“Sir! I must insist you put that out. You are on board a
ship.” Spock ordered.

Sherlock Holmes raised the pipe to his lips and inhaled as
he looked around. “In a closed room such as this, with the lot of you here, the air should be stale and thin. If I
am, in fact aboard a ship, there must be some sort of air filtration in
operation. Meaning, of course, that it will filter the smoke from my pipe as
well, leaving no harm done.” He inhaled again and blew out a plume of
blue-white smoke.

Gandalf drew a large, scrolled pipe from his robe and, with
a snap of his fingers, lit it. “Since
there is no harm to it, I believe I’ll join you, sir.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and then, finding no fault with the
detective’s reasoning, pressed a button
on a control panel which caused the smoke from both men’s pipes to spiral up to
the ceiling where it vanished into a vent.

Travis introduced Sherlock Holmes to everyone else and Mr. Spock
explained the situation to the detective. When he’d finished his account,
Travis looked expectantly to Sherlock Holmes, and waited as the man began to
pace the length of the room and puff on his pipe.

“Well?” Travis finally asked.

Sherlock stopped in mid-step and spun to face him. The
motion sent his long coattails twirling. He pointed a long finger directly into
Travis’s face. “You, young man, are the culprit!”

“Me? But how?”

“Elementary! You all seem to assume, incorrectly I believe,
that the inhabitants of this dimension are created when their author writes
them. I surmise, based on the evidence, that is not the case.”

“Upon what evidence do you base your hypothesis?” Spock
asked.

“I, of course, was created by Sir Author Conan Doyle, a
genius I might add. And you, sir?” he looked to Spock.

“If, in this dimension, the inhabitants are created by their
writers, and no one wrote you, you can’t possibly be here. Yet here you are.”

“Yes?” Travis prompted. This seemed to be getting them
nowhere. They already knew this much.

“Which means,” the detective continued, “none of us were
created by the act of writing, but by
the initial act of thinking. And
someone, young man, thought you here. Since we are all fully aware of who
created each of us, and you are not. I surmise, you have been in the process of
creating an autobiographical novel, casting yourself as the protagonist. Hence
your appearance in a world of fictional characters – you too, are a character.”

Travis had to admit, it did make a bizarre kind of sense. He
looked to Spock, to see the Vulcan’s take on Sherlock’s theory.

“I concur.”

“See, I told ya, someone wrote him here.” Tom added,
crossing his arms across his chest with a satisfied smile.

“I would have to agree,” Gandalf added. “Magically speaking,
of course; thoughtful intent is the basis of how magic works.”

Travis stood. “Okay, let’s say Mr. Holmes is right. That
explains how I got here, but how do I get home?”

A cloud of silence descended over the room.

Chapter Eight

Cool logic emanated from Mr. Spock, as Tom’s mind fired
cunning schemes. Magical notions sparked from Gandalf, while perceptive
reasoning radiated from Sherlock. Inside the lab, budding ideas formed and then
collapsed, seeming almost as tangible as the bubbles Travis used to blow on hot
summer days.

Travis sat in silence, not wanting to disturb anyone’s
thinking, while whirring thoughts tumbled inside his own head. He studied his
long-time idols. If anyone could get him home, it would be these characters.
Surely, one of them would figure out something.

Tom broke the silence. “What I just don’t git, is iffin he’s
one of us, why Travis here can wish things into bein’. I can’t do it. Can any
of you?”

Gandalf and Sherlock Holmes shook their heads.

“That is an excellent observation, Mr. Sawyer. It stands to
reason, he is not like us.” Spock said.

Sherlock snapped his fingers. “Yes, of course. The young man
is, in fact, a character just like us. But he’s also the author of his own
story. Unlike us, our authors have already passed on and they write no longer.
Hence, each of us live in a static world. We cannot change anything about it
without them.” Sherlock jumped to his feet. “Yet he can!”

Mr. Spock’s eyebrow notched up. “If your logic is sound, he
should then be able to simply think himself back into his own world. However,
according to Mr. Taylor, he has not been able to do so.”

Travis shrugged. “I…um…I kind of like it here, meeting all
of you and everything.”

Gandalf harrumphed. Spock’s eyebrow quirked, Sherlock tapped
his pipe on the edge of the table, and Tom grinned.

“I mean, I do want to go home. I mean…um…I wanted to make
sure I could. I just wasn’t in any great hurry yet, and then when I tried to
send Gandalf home and it didn’t work, I guess I just assumed I wouldn’t be able
to go either.” Travis explained. “I guess I could give it a try.”

Travis and Tom both jumped as Gandalf’s voice thundered in
the room. “Wait!”

“I agree,” Spock said.

“As do I,” Sherlock added.

“Even I know you can’t just go around wishing, willy-nilly.
You have to have a plan. Right, Mister Gandalf?” Tom said.

“Tom is right. Magic is not something with which you play.
If you do not understand what you are doing, it can be very dangerous.”

“The law of unintended consequences.” Spock added.

Gandalf stroked his beard. “Spells are something I do happen
to know a bit about. I’d be happy to help you, young man.”

“Okay, so what do I do?”

“We need to perform these spells in the correct order. If
you leave first, Mr. Holmes, young Tom here, and myself shall be left stranded
aboard Mr. Spock’s sh—”

“Not so, sir.” Spock interrupted. “Within the confines of
this world, the transporter can beam each of you to your previous positions.”

“Good, then we shall leave that magic to Mr. Spock and devote
our thoughts to returning you to your world.”

“Wait, Mister Gandalf, I want to go with Travis.” Tom said.

Travis grinned. He would love to take Tom Sawyer back with
him. Not only would his presence prove this was no dream, but he’d have the
little brother he’d always wanted. His father would be ecstatic, he was sure.
They’d enjoyed reading about Tom Sawyer’s adventures ever since Travis could
remember. Although he wasn’t quite sure how his mother would react.

Sherlock Holmes spoke up. “I do not see any reason why it
could not be attempted. The problem lies in getting you back here, should you
ever decide to return. You may want to give it a bit more thought, young man.”

Tom shook his head. “No siree. Up until Travis came and Mr.
Spock whisked us here, the most excitin’ thing I ever seen was the Mighty
Mississip. I been livin’ for nigh on a hundred years. I’ll be livin’ for
hundreds more, providin’ I don’t git myself killed or somethin’ and I ain’t
never gonna get the chance to see things iffin I go home.” Tom crossed his arms
stubbornly across his chest. “No siree, I wanna go with Travis.”

“Let’s try it.” Travis agreed.

Gandalf turned to Mr. Spock. “You wouldn’t happen to have a
quill and parchment on you by any chance?”

Before Mr. Spock could answer, Tom jumped up. “I’ll git it.”
He spoke into the replicator and within moments, a feathered quill and a scroll
of parchment shimmered into existence.

Gandalf patted the top of Tom’s head, as Tom handed him the
tools. “I could…um…also use a bit of ink, if you don’t mind.”

Tom drew a small pot of ink from behind his back with a
grin. “I knew you’d be needin’ this.”

Gandalf laughed. “I think you’d make it just fine in any
world you choose to live in, my boy.”

“Sir,” Spock said to the wizard, “if you recall while we on
the surface, you inquired about my knowledge of Elrond and Galadriel?”

“Yes?”

“I have performed a search on the computer and have found an
intriguing reference to those names.”

Gandalf leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

“It seems they were mentioned in an old Vulcan legend. I
vaguely recall it from my childhood. It told of a ship of beings who visited my
planet long ago, before our world was civilized. At first, the superstitious
inhabitants, thought them gods.” Spock’s eyebrow rose. “According to the
legend, it was Elrond and Galadriel who
introduced the ancient Vulcans to the first seeds of logic.”

“Is that so? I thought there was a bit of elfishness about
you.” Gandalf smiled.

Spock studied the wizard for a moment and then said, “I must
request, you do not mention this to the ship’s doctor should you meet him.”

“My lips are sealed, Mr. Spock.” Gandalf suppressed a smile
and turned to Travis. “Now, my boy, You mentioned a blast or some such thing
just before you ended up in this world?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We want to make sure, when we send you back that you will
not be in any danger.”

“A wise precaution.” Spock agreed.

“Can we just go home, and not go back to Switzerland?”

“Yes. Yes. I think that would be best. I shall write the
spell for you. Spells are tricky things. They must be written and spoken with
intent. One wrong word and well, who knows what can happen. Afterward, I shall
have Mr. Holmes and Mr. Spock read over it. Once we are all satisfied, then you
shall read it aloud. In the meantime, please try to keep your thoughts quiet.”

“Okay.”

Gandalf dipped the nib of the quill into the ink and began
to write on the parchment. After a few moments, he blew on the ink to dry it
and passed the parchment to Sherlock.

Sherlock read it. “Precise and to the point. Well done.” He
handed the scroll to Mr. Spock.

As Spock studied the writing, Tom kicked Travis under the
table and whispered. “You sure your ma and pa will be agreeable to havin’ me?”

Travis nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Tom released a breath he’d been holding. “Lordy! This is
gonna be some adventure ain’t it?”

“I know. I can’t wait.” Travis agreed.

Mr. Spock gave the scroll back to Gandalf. “Logical and
concise. I see no cause for concern.”

“In that case, my young friends, you may bid us goodbye and
be on your way.”

Tom jumped up. “It sure was nice meetin’ ya’ll.”

Travis stood as well. He held his hand out to Sherlock. “It
was an honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you for your help. I hope I didn’t
pull you out of anything important.”

He closed his long hand over Travis’s and squeezed it
firmly. “The pleasure was mine, young man. Godspeed.”

Travis spread his two middle fingers on his right hand in
the Vulcan manner. “Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock.”

Spock returned the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper,
Mr. Edwards.”

Then Travis moved to Gandalf and wrapped his arms around the
wizard, burying his face in the soft, white beard. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

The old man patted his back. “Good journey to you, son.”

Travis stepped back. “You ready, Tom?”

“Lordy, yes!”

Gandalf passed the parchment to Travis.

Travis read the words aloud and watched the walls of the
science lab warp and tilt the same way the walls of the control room had
before. He felt Tom’s hand grip his, and the two of them saw the white of the
wizard’s robe meld into the blue uniform of the science officer, and then into
the red cape of the detective. The colors spun into a twisted rainbow and
swirled around them. Travis squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, he and Tom stood at his front door. He
turned the knob and opened the door. “Mom! Dad! I’m home. Come meet my new
friend!”

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Once in a while, you get lucky and a fully-formed character knocks on your door, and invites him or herself into your story. Most of the time, characters are shifting, shadowy forms which are harder to pin down. They change shape as your story unfolds often altering the entire plot with their antics.

When this happens, you have two choices; stop writing (which you never want to have to do) until you flesh out that character using a character sheet, and lock that guy or gal into place. Or continue writing to see where the story goes and what happens (which could lead to a great deal more editing and revising later).

Characters are vital to your storyline. Their decisions are what shape your plot. If you have a character acting in a way that isn’t true to who they are, it can render your story unbelievable. You need a character you can see in your mind. One that is real to you so you can bring him or her to life for your reader. Sometimes a character sheet simply isn’t enough.You need a model.

I discovered this character-building shortcut while writing The Minstrel’s Tale. I call it story casting. I decided to cast the characters just as they do in the movies. I had only a vague idea for the minstrel, Amos Questerly, when I began writing. I knew very little about him. He was a man of the fourteenth century, he wore a patched cloak with hidden pockets, and he told stories. I didn’t know how old he was, what he looked like, or any of his mannerisms.

I asked myself if this were a movie, who would I cast in the role of Amos Questerly? I closed my eyes for a few minutes and imagined several well-known actors in the role. I listened to their voices, watched how they moved, and finally found the perfect Amos in one of my favorite actors.

Patrick Stewart is probably best known for his role as Captain Jean Luc Picard in Star Trek: The Next Generation. He has a distinctive voice, with a slight French accent. He was in his forties, bald, strong and healthy. He was the perfect template for Amos. Once I made the decision to model Amos after him, I could actually hear his voice in my head as I wrote the story.

The ability to completely visualize Amos made writing so easy, it almost felt as if I were merely transcribing instead of creating. Don’t get me wrong, Amos is not Patrick Stewart. He is a unique character with his own thoughts and mannerisms, but having Patrick as a model, helped me to know Amos in a way I couldn’t have done with only a character sheet.

If you get stuck, choose an actor or television character that best captures the essence of the individual you are trying to create. Use him or her as guide for your own character. Have fun and change hair or eye color, height or weight, speech patterns, mannerisms, make him evil or make her angelic, you can change anything you like. By having a ready-made person as a starting point, making slight alterations is easier than starting from scratch.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

In order to make The Minstrel’s Taleavailable to as wide a young audience as possible, the author, Anna Questerly and Wishbone Publishing have created this special teacher edition and the complementary student edition of The Minstrel’s Tale in .pdf format, specifically for teachers to photocopy and distribute to their students at no charge and without further remuneration.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Have you ever wanted to visit one of your favorite authors just to peek at their library? I would love to see which books influenced J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, or Terry Goodkind. More importantly, as a writer, I would like to see which books helped them to become such amazing authors. Which books on the craft of writing do they frequently pull off the shelf? Which reference books would I find sitting open on their desk?

Working in a bookstore, I am privileged to see what many of my writer friends buy, discuss which books helped them, and squirrel away a few gems for my own library. As a beginning author, you will begin to collect your own books and build your own library, but which books should you put in it? There are so many to choose from; to simplify, let’s break it down into three categories.

First, you should have the books you love to read. Your all-time favorites should line your shelves. Not only will you probably enjoy them again as a reader, but you’ll want to read them as a writer. What is it about those books that you love? How did the author handle dialogue or description. As apprentice writers, this is how we learn from the masters.

I actually need two copies of these books. One for the love of the book. It might be a first edition, a signed copy, or a special illustrated or leather bound edition. The second is a working copy. This copy is dog-eared and it’s pages are well worn. There are notes tucked inside. This is the one I study to learn how my favorite authors write the way they do.

The second type of book will be for reference. A good dictionary is critical. Because I write historical fiction, I use the Oxford English Dictionary. This particular dictionary not only gives you definitions, but tells when the word first came into use and how the meaning has changed throughout time. Not everyone can afford such a dictionary. The set I have is seventeen volumes and takes up an entire shelf. It’s value is $1100 — used. I got my set for a bargain – only two hundred bucks. A new twenty-volume set sells for $11,000! My second choice for a good dictionary is the Merriam Webster’s collegiate edition is much more affordable.

You’ll also need a great thesaurus or two. I use The Oxford Thesaurus and The Synonym Finder. While not exactly a thesaurus or dictionary, Random House Word Menu is a wonderful resource for writers; it gives a list of words particular to a certain subject. You’ll need a style guide; I used to have several of these and they contradict each other occasionally. Since I want to stay consistent in my writing, I limit myself and use only the Chicago Manual of Style. It covers every situation you could think of. A world atlas is helpful, unless, of course, you write sci-fi or fantasy; then you’ll have to draw your own maps. If you want a useful book for choosing character names, get a baby name book.

Finally, books on the craft of writing. A few of my favorites; Bird by Bird by Anne LaMotte. Stephen King’s On Writing, and Eats, Shoots, and Leaves by Lynne Truss. Throw in Story Structure Architect by Victoria Lynn Schmidt and Word Magic by Cindy Rogers, and you’ll have yourself an ideal beginning on your own writing library.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Oh, I am so excited! The Minstrel's Tale audio book is currently in production and should be ready before the holidays!

After auditioning many narrators, I decided to go with Alec. He has a ton of experience producing audio books and a great minstrel's voice. I can't wait to hear the whole book. We just inked the deal, so I'll keep you informed of our progress as we go.

An audio book of The Minstrel's Tale can reach an entire new audience, but also lets parents play the fairy tale stories for younger children. I believe audio books can help children learn to read if their parents don't have time to read to them every day. In addition, it thrills me to be able to offer an audio version to children and adults who can't read because of blindness or vision problems.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Many writers receive the age-old advice to ‘write what you
know’. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found that to be too limiting.
My life is rather boring and probably wouldn’t make a good story, at least not
one I want to write.

I don’t know
anything about life on other planets, magical worlds, and I’ve never lived in a
haunted house. I’ve never met a zombie, a vampire, or even an elf. I’ll bet the
authors who write about those things haven’t either.

I think a more apt piece of advice would be to ‘know what
you write’. For example, I write historical fiction. My books take place in
fourteenth century Europe. I didn’t live back then, I don’t know what it was like. According to that
advice, I shouldn’t be writing about it.

But that’s where I wanted my story to be set. Hmm, what’s an
author to do? Since my time machine was out for repairs, I had to settle for
researching the time period. I found some great books to read; one of my
favorites was The Time Traveler’s Guide
to the Fourteenth Century by Ian Mortimer. The author is a historian and
he’s published many scholarly works, but he wrote this book for non-historians.
In it, I learned what people ate and drank, what kind of furniture was inside
their homes, how their homes were made, how their currency worked, what they
wore and lots of other stuff.

This was a great starting point, but there was more I needed
to learn. I had to study the kings and queens of the time, the religious
leaders, which recorded events happened just before, during, and right after
the time my story takes place. I pored over maps with boundaries that changed
every couple of years. I found out how long it would take to get from France to
England by foot, on horseback, and by boat.

I bought a DVD set of The
Medieval World by Professor Dorsey Armstrong. I was able to hear the sounds
of instruments that would have been played back then. She explained what the
food would have tasted like and how they may have prepared it. This was all
fascinating to learn and I almost felt as if I were living in the fourteenth
century.

Once I began researching, it was difficult to stop. There is
so much information and some of it conflicted. I still needed a bit more help.
(Serendipity is an author’s best friend and something we quickly learn to rely
on. Once you begin writing, it’s as if the universe conspires to help you.)

One fine day, Dr. Brook Ballard, a retired, medieval history
professor, walked into the bookstore where I worked. We began to talk and I
explained about the book I was writing. He agreed to be my historical advisor
for my books. SCORE!

Dr. Ballard lent me source materials, read over my
manuscript, pointed out inaccuracies, and answered my many questions. He told
me to remove the forks from the table, since they hadn’t been invented yet. He
has my undying gratitude for his assistance and his patience.

Tip: Advice from a
recognized expert is priceless to an author, but you can’t just find one and
pick their brain forever. Don’t waste their time with things you can find out
on your own. You have to do the preliminary work yourself.

I know what you’re thinking. “That’s fine for history, but
what about those other planets and magical worlds where there are no experts?
What about those vampires, zombies, and elves?”

Great question! You’re going to love your research for this.
There are actually three ways to go about ‘world building’. The first and
easiest way is to build on worlds already created by your favorite authors.
This is considered ‘fan fiction’, and it’s a perfectly acceptable way to get
your feet wet writing science fiction, fantasy, or paranormal stories.

Let’s say you loved The
Hobbit, as much I do, and didn’t want to leave that world. Using Tolkien’s
world, Middle Earth, you could set different characters on a new adventure within
Middle Earth. Your research for a project like this would be to study the world
that Tolkien built. You would need to reread everything he wrote, study his
maps, and pay attention to the rules of his world. (Rules like how the elves’
magic works compared to a wizard’s magic.)

The second way is to build your own world. This takes much
longer, sometimes many years to create a world for a book like The Hobbit. In my opinion, this is what
makes a true classic. J.K. Rowling did it with Harry Potter. Hogwarts with all
of its rules and quirky staircases did not exist before she wrote it. Isn’t
that mind-boggling?

Writing a book such as this is my highest goal. I’m not
there yet, so the advice I can give is limited, but there are a few books on
world building for science fiction and fantasy writers you can read for further
information. How to Write Tales of
Horror, Fantasy & Science Fiction edited by J.N. Williamson and Writing Science Fiction & Fantasy by
the editors of Analog and Asimov’s Science Fiction, are
both great starting points.

The third way, and probably the most useful, is to read many
books similar to the one you want to write. Let’s say you want to write about
dragons. You should read The Dragon
Riders of Pern, by Anne McCaffrey, Christopher Paolini’s Eragon series and any other books about
dragons (fiction or non-fiction), that appeal to you. What you are looking for
during these readings is the mythology
of dragon lure. What do they all have in common? What’s different? How do
Chinese dragons differ from European dragons?

Then you can use that information to make your dragons ‘fit
the mold’ so to speak, yet still be unique. For instance, maybe every dragon
you’ve read about lays eggs, but you want your dragons to have live births,
like mammals. In that case, you would need to explain to your reader why your
dragons don’t lay eggs like the rest. If you make it believable, you’ve set
your dragons apart from the others while still keeping true to the accepted
mythology the fans of fantasy have already adopted as truth. This technique works
with vampires, ghosts, zombies, aliens, elves, wizards and any being already
immortalized in literature.

Although you are using the mythology of other fiction
writers, you are not writing fan fiction by placing a different story in someone
else’s world. Instead, you are building on the work of others who have come
before you. Most of the books published today use this method.

You don’t have to write
what you know, but you should know
what you write. If you’re like me, you’ll probably find researching for a
new book to be as much fun as writing it. Writers, by nature are smart and
curious people. We have to know a bit about many things to make up a believable
story.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Do your imaginary characters speak to you? Do you answer them? Do you dream of worlds yet to be built?Is there a book burning inside of you?

If you answered yes, there’s ink in your blood. You, my friend, are a writer and must seek help immediately. You need a transfusion. The story has to come out. The ink must be bled from your veins and injected into your laptop.

Friends and family often don’t understand the condition and may be well-meaning, but able to offer little relief. I’m here to help. For many years, I suffered from Ink In My Blood disease. It wasn’t until I was forty-six years old that I was cured. Perhaps cured isn’t exactly the right word. A writer is never really cured. There is always a bit of ink residing in each of us.

Instead, we learn to manage the disease. We figure out ways to live with this condition. We seek out others like us and form support groups. We stay abreast of the newest technology hoping to ease the most painful symptoms. (spelling, grammar, punctuation, publishing – that type of thing). More importantly, we write every day.

Many people afflicted with this disease, initially try to deal with it by reading books about writing, talking about their story ideas, or daydreaming scenes for their characters. However, there is only one remedy proven to help. You must write the book.

I encourage you to begin now, while you are young and able to fend off the more debilitating aspects of the disease (self-censorship, lack of imagination, writer’s block). Don’t wait until your life is half over, as I did, to experience the thrill of having your book published, of receiving fan mail from total strangers, and of getting royalty checks.

Warning: Not everyone suffering from Ink-In-My-Blood disease will manage to complete the transfusion. Writing is work. It’s hard work. There is so much more to it than you can begin to imagine. It takes commitment and dedication to see a novel or even a short story through to completion. Those who do not write their book will be plagued by it until they do or, even sadder, the ink may eventually evaporate and their story will never be written.

My blog is here to offer guidance and support to young writers. This is where I’ll post links to resources I’ve found to be helpful. We’ll have writing challenges, guest author posts, and much more.

In short, here is where you’ll find everything to do with writing. Although this blog can provide you with the tools you need to extract your book, no one can do it for you. You are the only one who can write your story.

Feel free to comment or post a question, invite your writing friends, or just lurk in the shadows. All I ask is to keep your comments on topic, be polite, and have fun.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Each nominee is supposed to post seven things you don't know about us. Here are my seven things:

1. I served in the Air National Guard for seven years.2.My five favorite authors are J.R. R. Tolkein, J. K. Rowling, Mark Twain, Stephen King, and Dr. Seuss.3. I grew up riding horses and miss it.4. Don't have cable or a satelite dish at my house.5. My cell phone only makes phone calls. (no texts, pictures, or internet)6. I enjoy cooking.7. I miss the fresh seafood from the East Coast. (crabs to be exact!)